


in excess

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [14]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Come Marking, Gangbang, M/M, Multiple Penetration, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Harry’s so distracted by Draco during a match that he almost costs his team the win. Draco decides he should make it up to them.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Other(s)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 28
Kudos: 327





	in excess

**Author's Note:**

> the october 14 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _gangbang._

The Tornados tumble into their locker room, a loud, vibrantly blue mass of overexcited athletes hopped up on endorphins and the rush of victory.

Harry’s in the middle of the scrum, face red and voice hoarse from shouting, his hand still cramped from where he’d clutched the game-winning Snitch until an official was able to fight his way through the wind shear to verify the catch and declare the Tutshill Tornados the British Quidditch Premier League Champions. His face hurts from smiling and his shoulders are sore from being smacked on the back from his overenthusiastic teammates, plus the regular aches and pains that come from playing professional Quidditch, but he barely feels a thing other than elation.

The Tornados had not been favoured to win the BQPL this year, or any year—they were firmly a middle-of-the-pack team, with some stunning upset victories and a few crushing defeats every season to keep their loyal fans engaged, but they didn’t have the funding to attract star players like Puddlmere did, or the caché of Holyhead to pick and choose among hopeful players. They had star Seeker Harry Potter, who caught the Snitch more often than he didn’t, but with recent rule changes reducing the worth of the Snitch to 75 points instead of 150 (after much concerted petitioning by players and fans alike, who rightly pointed out that the rest of the team was essentially irrelevant if the Snitch was worth that much), Tutshill’s lack of a quality Keeper and only one Chaser that truly had killer instinct prevented them from the string of victories they would no doubt have had each season if the old rules had been in effect.

That all changed in the off-season, though.

The Tornados’ ownership took a gamble and spent more than they really could afford acquiring one of the most talented Keepers from _La Ligue de Championnat,_ the top-flight league in France. It took an obscenely high salary and various undisclosed incentives, but on the last day of the trade window Harry got the Owl that they had successfully signed Draco Malfoy from Les Corbeaux Calais.

Harry had stared down at the notification blankly, then shrugged and gone back to his workout. Draco Malfoy was one of the top Keepers in the sport, and Harry wanted to win.

Of course, he hadn’t been prepared for quite how _different_ Draco would look. Obviously, for him to be any good at Keeping he would have needed to pack on some muscle, but Harry was in no way ready for how _broad_ his chest was, how his biceps would strain at his shirts (and really, everything Draco wore was, so there was no reason for his sleeves to be _so damn tight_ ); his jaw had squared off too, and he wore his hair in an undercut, with the long pieces long enough to tie back during games, and all of that combined with the Quidditch-player standard tiny waist, thick thighs, and round arse they all got from hours on the broom—well. Harry was appalled at how quickly his body reacted to this new and improved Draco Malfoy.

Harry himself was quite fit, of course, but Seekers were built differently—he was long, lean muscles that could carry him through an entire game and still keep him fresh for the intense dives, twists, and turns going after the Snitch took, and being slender, rather than bulky, kept him aerodynamic. His workouts focused on endurance, not strength, with special sessions to help his agility and flexibility and keep his fast-twitch muscles in prime shape.

Draco, on the other hand, spent hours with the Beaters when they worked on their arms, and with the Chasers on core days, and occasionally even joined Harry for his longer runs, although that was no more than twice a month; the trainers strictly limited his cardio to short sprints and slow warm-ups and cool-downs the rest of the time. He was _built,_ his width and musculature finally proportional to his height, and, conveniently, exactly Harry’s type when he went for men.

He was a _lot_ of people’s type, based on how quickly his jerseys sold, and how fast the marketing department pivoted to featuring him and Harry, back-to-back.

Those photo shoots are how it got started. It turns out there’s only so much standing in close proximity to a shirtless, oiled-up Draco that Malfoy Harry can stand before he shoves him into the nearest closet and snogs him within an inch of his life.

Their relationship was common knowledge on the team, an open secret in the League, and the subject of much public speculation. While not formally disallowed, intra-team relationships were certainly frowned upon by a certain segment of League management; the Harpies got away with it by capitalizing on the papers’ tendency to categorize relationships between women as _gal pals,_ but Harry and Draco stood a little too close to each other, touched just a little too much, for rumors _not_ to run rampant.

Harry thinks the objections are stupid; if he and Draco weren’t fucking, they’d probably be fighting, and he knows which the Tornados would prefer.

Now, as they spill into the locker room and spread out, whooping and hollering and waiting for the champagne and the Cup to be brought in, Harry darts his eyes around, finally catching the platinum of his boyfriend’s hair disappearing around the corner to the showers. Grinning, he makes his escape, sending two fingers over his shoulder at the catcalls he gets.

He doesn’t care. Why would he care if they knew what he was going to do? _They won_.

Draco’s waiting for him in the showers, leaning against the tiled wall, arms crossed, mouth in that _infuriating_ smirk that makes Harry want to punch him and get on his knees in equal measure. “Congratulations, Potter,” he says quietly, straightening up and grabbing Harry’s jersey and reeling him in when Harry’s close enough. Their bodies press together, shoulder to hip, and Harry wedges one of his thighs between Draco’s legs, shivering when he feels how hard Draco already is. “They’ll be playing that dive of yours in the sport section for weeks; I wouldn’t be surprised if they named it after you. Do you know how close you were to crashing? I was hard the second you pulled up.” His lips are very close to Harry’s ear.

Harry gets his hands under Draco’s shirt and pushes it up, sliding his palms over Draco’s sweat-slick stomach, feeling the muscles clench under his touch. Draco’s heart is racing—still? Again?—and Harry can feel it thrum under his breastbone. “And what about you?” he asks, kneading Draco’s pecs and making him groan. “Only thirty points allowed—surely that’s a record for a finals match? The only reason that dive was as dangerous as it was is because I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Draco gets his arms on Harry’s arse and squeezes. “Oh, I know,” he says smugly. “I think everyone in the _stadium_ noticed how much you were staring at me. You could have lost us the whole thing with your inattention, you know.”

“But I didn’t,” Harry replies, closing his teeth over the tendon in Draco’s neck and sucking. Draco hisses, but Harry doesn’t stop until he knows he’s left a lurid purple mark.

“You didn’t,” Draco agrees, tugging Harry’s shirt up and off, throwing onto the closest bench. “But you _could have_. Don’t you think you should make it up to me?”

Harry’s about to reply when a voice behind them interjects. “Yeah, Potter. Too much ogling your _boyfriend_ and you’d have cost us the match. Maybe you _should_ make it up. To all of us.”

Draco’s hands tighten on Harry’s arse, but Harry twists his neck and peers around. Ollie Davies, their longtime Chaser, who finally had a team that complemented his innate talent, is just a few feet back, palming himself over the tight leggings he prefers to wear under his kit. Harry and Ollie had slept together a few times, as stress relief or when they were on the road and couldn’t risk being spotted out on the pull, but since Draco, Harry hasn’t been with anyone else. “Look, Ollie—” he starts, but to his surprise, Draco interrupts.

“You know, Davies…” and oh, his voice is low and dark, and Harry shivers. “You might be onto something. After all, it would have been _Harry’s_ fault if we lost. And after all that _money_ they spent to bring me over here. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry’s jaw drops, and he turns back to face Draco, who’s got a fierce, peculiar look in his eyes. They stare at each other for a minute, and Draco tilts his head, mouth softening, and slowly, Harry nods. “Yes,” he says, voice cracked. “Yeah, I...should make it up to the team.”

“Fuck,” Davies swears behind them, but Harry ignores him, because Draco’s hands are petting along his bare back, leaving goosebumps as the sweat chills.

“Are you sure,” Draco whispers, just to him, and Harry closes his eyes. “We don’t...it was just…” Draco seems, for once, to be lost for words.

“Yes,” Harry whispers back, pressing himself against Draco so he can feel how hard Harry is. “We can...do you want to tell me what…? Do you want to tell _them_? I…” He doesn’t know how to continue. His skin is humming, and his cock is twitching in his tights, and thank Merlin Draco gets it, because Harry’s at a loss for words.

They’ve talked about it before—about being with other people, about _sharing,_ about Draco letting men in to have their way with Harry, whatever they want, whatever _Draco_ wants; it was one of Harry’s most closely-guarded fantasies, one he was ashamed to share, but Draco had been on board, and Harry’s not about to squander this chance when it’s so neatly presented itself to him.

Harry _wants_ this, with every bone in his body, but he knows it’s something he’ll only want _once,_ because he’s already dangerously attached to Draco, dangerously close to thinking things like _forever_ and _Draco, will you…?_ , so he’s going to grab this opportunity now, before the off-season has officially begun and Harry and Draco no longer have an excuse to be in each other’s pockets; he suspects they’ll be outed officially sooner rather than later, and before that happens they’ll need to have a _conversation_. Draco knows it too.

That’s in the future, though. For now, Draco pushes Harry over to the bench, putting him on all fours with Harry’s own discarded shirt the only cushion for his knees. A wave of Draco’s hand makes the bench wider and shorter, so it’s more of a platform, and Harry shivers.

“Jesus,” Ollie curses, and his footsteps echo away, presumably to— _oh god_ —get the rest of the team.

Draco fits his hand around Harry’s jaw and presses his thumb into the joint, causing Harry’s mouth to drop. “Good,” he says lowly, pushing down his joggers and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, guiding it into Harry’s mouth. His other hand moves to the back of Harry’s head, twining into his hair and directing him as Draco pleases.

Harry coughs until he manages to relax his throat, and then holds still, eyes watering, as Draco feeds his cock down into Harry’s throat. He stops when Harry’s nose is brushing his stomach, and then both his hands are in Harry’s hair, holding him in place until sparks dance along the edge of Harry’s vision at the lack of air.

Draco holds him in place for just a moment longer, then slowly pulls out, letting Harry sputter and choke in some air for just a moment before pushing back in, faster this time, and Harry loses himself in the rhythm, the familiar feel of Draco’s cock on his tongue.

“Oh _man,_ ” comes a voice from behind him—Wilson, Harry thinks. He can’t find it in himself to care; Draco will figure it out.

Draco chuckles above him, stroking proprietarily down Harry’s throat, fingers dancing over the bulge his cock is making. “Did you want a turn? Harry feels _ever so badly_ about his lack of focus in the first half of the game; he’s offered up his arse to make amends.”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Wilson swears, and Harry feels a hand on his hip and slick fingers prodding at his hole.

He winces at the first breach—Wilson’s fingers are thick, and he’s not as gentle as Draco usually is for this part, but the sting feels good, and he can feel his body melting into what’s happening, mind floating as he continues to suck Draco’s cock.

“Careful, now,” Draco says, continuing to thrust into Harry’s throat as he pets his hair. “Don’t damage what isn’t yours.” And that sends a jolt down Harry’s spine. _Mine,_ Draco’s essentially just said, in front of their entire team.

Wilson’s up to two fingers, and he’s apparently decided that’s enough, because he pulls them out, and soon Harry feels something blunt nudging at his hole. Wilson isn’t as thick as Draco, not by a long shot (Harry’s aching jaw can attest to that), but he’s long, and it takes forever until he’s seated himself with a groan, hips snug to Harry’s arse. 

He starts a quick, harsh rhythm, the force of his thrusts pushing Harry onto Draco’s cock more quickly than he was prepared for, and Harry chokes. Draco pulls back a bit and adjusts, letting Harry breathe, fixing the angle so Harry can handle it.

Wilson’s clearly still keyed up from the match, because it’s not long before he’s coming into Harry with a groan and slowly pulling out. “Fuck,” he pants. “Thanks, mate.” Harry doesn’t know who that’s directed at.

Next is Evans, who fucks him so slowly and sweetly that Harry would be howling for release if he could talk. Draco says something that makes Evans chuckle, but Harry can’t make it out over the roaring in his ears. His cock is rock-hard and drooling precome onto the bench, but he’s got absolutely no leverage for friction, and the heat building in the base of his spine has nowhere to go.

Taylor is third, and he fucks Harry so hard the entire bench slides forward a few inches. His hands are rough and callused, and after a murmured conversation with Draco Taylor pulls out and lands a few hard, stinging slaps on Harry’s arse and thighs, which makes Harry yelp around Draco’s cock. His skin burns when Taylor’s back inside him again, his leg hair rasping against the sensitive skin.

Walker fingers him first, even though at this point it’s nowhere near necessary. He’s got four fingers in Harry before Draco says something sharply; Harry vaguely thinks he’ll be grateful for that intervention later, but right now all he can do is whine and drool around Draco’s cock at the emptiness Walker leaves when his fingers withdraw, before he pushes in easily with his cock.

Draco’s thighs are tense and the muscles are trembling under the skin. He’s probably dehydrated, Harry thinks as he sucks on the head of Draco’s cock; they all probably are. They’re going to need an extra-long session in the ice baths tonight.

Walker comes with a grunt and walks away without a word to either Draco or Harry, and then the fingers that trail down Harry’s spine feel familiar enough that he’s brought back to himself just enough to hear the conversation.

“Surprised you’re taking the leftovers, Davies,” Draco drawls.

Ollie snorts. “Best for last, and all.”

Harry can picture the sneer on Draco’s lips when he replies, “As you say. However, I believe you’ll find that _I’ll_ be last.”

Ollie’s fingers stutter and pause at that, but quickly resume. “Now who’s the one taking sloppy seconds? You’re up there like you _own_ him—Harry’s never going to commit to you.”

Harry vaguely wonders how long this has been going on as Draco rubs slowly over his cheeks; Draco’s got stamina, he knows, but Harry’s never experienced anything like _this_ before. He moves his tongue and allows it to drag along Draco’s shaft the next time Draco pulls out.

Draco hisses, then replies coolly, voice steady, almost unaffected. “I _do_ own him, Davies. Do you think he’d trust just anyone to manage this for him? He never even _told_ you this was something he wanted. He’s forgotten all about you since we got together. So I recommend you take his arse while it’s on offer—it’s the _last_ chance you’ll ever have with him. Make it good—as good as you can.” Draco’s voice drops to icy scorn at the end.

“You’re lucky you’re so fucking good in the goal, Malfoy,” Ollie mutters, but Harry can tell he’s lost his bluster, accepted Draco’s message. The first harsh thrust of his cock proves he’s planning on taking whatever frustration he’s still feeling out on Harry’s arse, though.

His strokes are punishing and deep, and Harry’s shivering, because Ollie hasn’t forgotten the angle that brushes right against his prostate, and he’s hitting it every time.

Draco’s hands tighten in Harry’s hair as Ollie’s slide over his sides, and Harry is so overstimulated he thinks he might actually come without anyone touching his cock at all.

Before too long, though, Davies is moaning and squeezing his hands tight around Harry’s hips as he pushes forward hard and comes, grinding forward like he always used to as his cock twitches.

He pulls out slowly and brushes a hand over Harry’s arse, landing three quick slaps before he strides quickly away.

“Alone again,” Draco says, and his voice is finally trembling, all that fine control he had in front of the team utterly lost. Harry looks up for the first time and meets Draco’s eyes, and Draco’s face is red and his lips bitten plump. He runs his thumbs under Harry’s eyes, brushing away the tears that keep falling with each thrust into Harry’s throat. “Where do you want me to come?”

Harry can feel everyone else’s come leaking slowly out of his arse, dripping down his thigh, and he feels—disgusting. Amazing. Draco pulls all the way out for the first time, and Harry gasps and almost loses his balance, feeling, incredibly, bereft without a cock inside him. Without _Draco’s_ cock inside him. “I...I don’t…” His voice is totally blown, and Draco shivers hearing it.

“Don’t worry,” Draco soothes, stepping back a bit and taking himself in hand. All Harry can do is stay passively in place, focusing on not collapsing onto the bench, as Draco strips his cock, faster and faster, his breath speeding up. “I know what you need. Fuck, Harry, you were so— It was so— I wish you could have seen— _Fuck_!” Draco staggers a bit as he comes all over Harry’s upturned face.

Harry blinks slowly, tongue darting out to lick at the drops of come near his mouth. His eyes are mostly closed, but he blinks in time to see Draco stepping forward, eyes wild. “Salazar, Harry,” he whispers reverently, reaching out and stroking over his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. He’s—oh god, he’s _rubbing his come in,_ and Harry’s cock throbs as he lets out a moan, pressing into Draco’s hands, begging for contact.

“Please,” he rasps. “Draco, please.”

“Hush,” Draco soothes. “Don’t try to talk. I’ve got you. _I’ve_ got you.” He helps Harry to his feet and moves them back to the showers, turning the water on and setting it hot, the way Harry likes.

Carefully, he washes Harry’s torso, his legs, his arms. Harry groans and sways when Draco’s fingers dig into his scalp. Draco carefully rinses his face, leaving kisses everywhere he washes off come, and then he leans Harry face-first against the wall. He rubs firmly on Harry’s arse and thighs, the skin still pink and stinging from the slaps, and Harry hisses and shifts in discomfort.

When Draco’s hands part Harry’s cheeks and brush over his hole, Harry keens and thrusts forward, cock sliding against the slick tile walls. “Draco,” he pleads. “I can’t..”

“I know,” Draco says, rubbing soothingly over his stretched, swollen entrance. He’s coated his fingers in something that smells minty and feels cool, and Harry relaxes. “I’ve got you.” His other hand slides around Harry’s waist and grabs his cock, the firm stroke distracting as he dips two of his fingers into Harry’s hole, cleaning and healing.

Harry’s whole body is shaking and he reaches back blindly, grabbing Draco’s hip. Draco is unrelenting, though, and as uncomfortable as his fingers are at first, the balm eventually does its job, soothing Harry’s hurts.

Draco’s hand on his cock doesn’t stop, either, but by the time Harry finally comes it’s almost an afterthought—he’s been so overstimulated for so long, orgasm feels like relief, like release, rather than pleasure.

Draco dries him off and dresses him, and they make their way back into the locker room, which is empty and clean.

There’s a bottle of champagne in front of Harry’s locker, though, and Draco’s too; Harry has a note that simply reads _Good game, Potter. You’re first in line for your Cup Day._

Draco reads it over his shoulder, chuckling. “Clever lads,” he remarks, picking up Harry’s champagne bottle and slipping it into his extended duffle bag.

Harry sighs and slips the note into his pocket. He’s exhausted, and thirsty, and he needs an ice bath and electrolytes stat, or he’s going to spend the next day vomiting and cramping. “Will you take me home,” he says, listing forward into Draco’s arms. “And help me set up the ice bath.”

Draco folds his arms around Harry, squeezing him comfortingly. “If you think I’m leaving you alone for the next _week,_ you’re insane. Guess we’ll have to share our Cup Day.”

“Fine by—” Harry’s interrupted by a cracking yawn. “Fine by me.”

“Let’s get you back before you fall asleep right here,” Draco says gently, walking them towards the exit—there’s no Apparating in the players’ locker rooms in any BQPL stadium.

“Mmm,” Harry says, more than happy to let Draco’s strong arms support him. “Love—” He clamps his mouth shut, horrified.

Draco barely pauses as he pushes them out the door. “You too, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/632002748820406272/kinktober-day-14-in-excess).


End file.
